Damaged Goods
by sodafly
Summary: 'There's fire then, burning Derek from the inside out because he needs to breathe but can't. Chemical fire rages in his body and he's going to die in the flames just like his family did. Derek doesn't want to die, but there is nothing he can do to stop it. ' spoilers for season 2 episode 4


Once someone had described Derek in two words, and the two words that came from their mouth had been 'damaged goods'. He had been living in New York for just over four months since the fire , taking shelter in a pack run by a cousin of his mother. City packs tended to be small and thinly spread; a mismatch of people who had no blood connection running through their veins ,as no one had the space for families much larger than four. The packs tended to be vicious, even towards each other and having two Alphas in one territory didn't help ease the tension.

It was a pack member who had been trying to get into Derek's pants for about two months who said the words, shortly after the young seventeen year old had given in. After a quick and rather mind blowing night, the much older pack member had rolled from bed and never touched the Beta again.

"No offence kid." He said leaning on the door frame with arms crossed "You're cute but I don't deal with damaged goods". The door had shut and Derek had been left, standing with wounded pride in the corridor of an apartment block.

Despite the resentment, Derek knew the statement was no lie. The fire had him left raw, with wires snapped and sparking as a few perfectly working gears ground to a halt and rusted in his brain. Derek was damaged goods, even if no one could see the cuts and bruises and dents which had long since healed.

* * *

Returning to Beacon Hills had been like tearing open those wounds again. Accept this time they tore deeper and felt more abused than they had before and, at first, meeting Stiles had been like pouring salt into the wells of blood.

But despite the initial, unbearable pain, Stiles started to turn from salt to healing salve, which soothed and cooled the burning flesh and clotted the blood with still dripped to form scabs on Derek's skin. Stiles was damaged goods just like Derek, even if the teen hid it better behind a mask which people liked a lot more.

"Fine you can stay the night, but if you eat the entirety of my fridge again I'm going to have to kill you." Stiles says grumpily and allows Derek to climb through his window whereas before he had been trying to push the werewolf out of it. Derek has nowhere to go, not with the hunters already using his home as a hide out and it wouldn't be the first time Stiles has harboured him.

Stiles walks out of the room and Derek can hear the soft thud of his feet as they walk towards the bathroom. There's the sound of the television crackling downstairs and a lingering smell of a whiskey ounce suggesting that the sheriff is home this evening. Silently going from the window to the bed, Derek crouches to retrieve the pair of sweatpants he left here last time he stayed, unwilling to sleep in his jeans again and quickly changes. He leaves his jeans, t-shirt and jacket in a small pile by the window with his boots standing to the side, before wiggling into Stiles' bed and pulling the covers up over his head.

Previously he had slept in a sleeping bag, on a roll mat, on the floor; but after several days sleeping on the floor of a dusty, abandoned subway cart, Derek just wants to sink into the increasingly unfamiliar feel of a mattress with warm duvets wrapped around him.

The smell of Stiles is overwhelming, that warm, cotton smell with a hint of freshly baked bread and that underlining bitter smell that all teenage boys possess but eventually grow out of. A smell has never felt so welcoming before and Derek breathes in deep so his lungs are filled with Stiles.

"Oh no, you've invaded my life but you cannot invade my bed. Get out, you sleep on the floor." Stiles says when he returns to see Derek curled up in his duvet, with nothing but his hair and a toe sticking out from under it. Growling in protest, Derek shifts and tightens his grip on the duvet when he hears Stiles sigh and wrap his fingers around the edge of the fabric. The tug of war which commences doesn't last long, all of Stiles' harsh pulling and twisting proving no match for Derek superior strength.

Stiles eventually lets go and sits on the foot of the bed with a frustrated look on his face. Derek folds down the duvet, so the edge rests on the bridge of his nose, and stares at the teen.

"Fine you can sleep in the bed, is there anything else you want your highness?" Stiles snaps at him, prodding Derek's foot and making a face.

"You shutting up would be nice." Derek mumbles, rolling onto his side to face the wall and pulling the covers back over his head. He hears Stiles rolling onto the floor mat and wiggling into a sleeping bag.

"I hate you." Stiles mutters as he shifts around, knowing Derek can hear him loud and clear.

"I can live with that" Derek replies, but he can hear Stiles' heart beat and knows he's lying.

* * *

In the morning, Derek wakes up alone. Sunlight is filtering under the blind and he's warm in a cocoon. It sounds like only one other person moving around downstairs, feet on wooden flooring, the banging of cupboards opening and closing and a sizzle as something cooks in a pan. The smell of beacon is flowing up the stairs and Derek's stomach growls in approval.

Reluctantly Derek rolls out of bed and pads out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily and totally forgetting to put a shirt on. Tapping into other sense, Derek can hear Stiles' steady heartbeat and a feeling of content distraction with a light dusting of apprehension.

It smells so good.

Stiles is cooking, which is utterly adorable and unsurprising, as this isn't the first time Stiles has cooked for him. Derek has a large appetite and tended to eat all the food in the Stilinski household because it was rare that he ate a proper meal.

"So if you could refrain from eating everything this time I would be grateful. My dad said he's seriously considering monitoring how much I eat when he came home to an empty kitchen, and I just had to grin and bare it, because I can't say that I have a grouchy werewolf ,who has no manners what so ever , eating anything he can lay his hands on."

Stiles glances at him and double takes, eyes landing on Derek's bare chest and there's the sight of the tip of a pink tongue flicking out over the teens bottom lip. Derek can hear the slight upbeat of Stiles' heart and the light hitch of his breath, the combination of which makes Derek want to back Stiles against the counter and see just how fast he can get that heart beating. It wouldn't be the first time he's felt the urge, and it only got stronger when he turned Alpha. Being an Alpha came with a need for dominance, and the idea of pulling dominance over Stiles had a hot flush running up Derek's spine.

Maybe that's why he forgot to put a shirt on, because teasing is just as fun as dominating.

Derek doesn't say anything, just slips in behind Stiles when the teen looked away from him, peering over his shoulder and pressing them together back to chest. Yet again Stiles' breath hitches and the heat of his skin increases, and Derek can't help the smirk that spread on his lips because he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Make sure it's well done." Derek says, warm breath washing over Stiles' ear, lips just shy of the shell. The rush of Stiles' blood in his veins is faint in the werewolf's ears and he looks down at the smooth neck visible over the collar of his shirt. Tongue rolling over the tip of one canine tooth, Derek presses a little closer before pushing away to raid the fridge, listening to the sound of one held in exhale rattling from Stiles' lungs.

Sometimes, bringing further damage to damaged goods brings a special kind of pleasure

* * *

Having a pack acts like a plaster to cover those never healing wounds. The ragtag team of teens under Derek's watch act like antibiotics, taken in small doses daily to help relieve the pain and fight infection.

In the process of making them, Derek knows he hurts Scott and in some way he hurts Stiles, even if his pain is only secondary. Stiles' bruises are in response to the blows delivered to Scott, and they shine purple even though the soreness is not directly delivered to him.

That's the problem with friendship and compassion, the aftershocks hurt as much as the intended strike.

* * *

Isaac is something of a permanent figure in Derek's life. Living with Derek in the abandon warehouse, keeping out of the subway cart Derek has claimed as his own and setting up his own place of rest elsewhere. Isaac was by far the most loyal member of Derek's pack, having been cared for and saved, and one day he may even become the strongest, as their Beta to Alpha bond was much deeper compared to the others.

Erica came and went, spending a lot of her time in the warehouse and she is a quick learner. Female werewolves always had a certain type of strength in them, and that is why most Alpha's tended to be women. Derek liked the girl; he had plans for her even if she liked to push the boundaries which lay between them too often. He had to kick her out of his subway cart on several occasions before she got the point that no one was allowed in there.

Boyd is a quieter member, large and a little less agile, but he is new and still trying to grasp the mechanism behind being a werewolf. It was nice to have a less prominent member who did as he was told and acted as an epicentre of calm. But Derek could feel the drive behind him, that urge to be better than anyone else and that was what prevented the Alpha from thinking he'd made the wrong decision.

"Are you studying?" Derek says, sitting on a crate with his chin resting on top of laced fingers. Isaac is led on his belly, on a tatty rug with a text book and note pad in front of him.

"I don't see why I have to" Isaac mumbles as he flicks a page over.

"Because no one likes an idiot" Derek knows Isaac wants to say something sarcastic, but he holds it back, well aware of how Derek broke his bones during training earlier that day.

"What are you planning to do with Erica?" Isaac asks sheepishly once Derek has moved to sit beside him. Side glancing the Beta, Derek tilts his head up to look at the ceiling.

"She'll serve her purpose." Is his question avoiding answer. He doesn't want Erica, not like she wants him. Derek knows that her infatuation is not a lengthy one and will fade in time, for now she is just testing the waters and seeing how far she can push authority before it snaps. In fact, it shouldn't be classed as an infatuation at all.

Isaac scowls at him, but Derek just shrugs, ruffling Isaacs's curls with one hand before rising and disappearing into his subway cart before anymore question can be asked.

* * *

Werewolves are not immortal. They live, they grow old, and they die just like everyone else. They feel pain, excruciating agony, only to heal fast and feel it all over again. Sometimes they can fool themselves into thinking they are immortal, so possessed by power and pride that it blinds them, and end up dying slowing with a system filled with wolfs bane.

Being filled with such power blinkers Derek. He is not blinded by it, but he shifts into a state of tunnel vision because never has he felt quite like this before. As an Alpha, he feels amazing, stronger, faster, more attuned to his senses and suddenly the world is something that can be snatched up and taken between his claws.

"You need me to survive, which is why you're _not letting me go_." Derek says desperately, wanting to cling to Stiles but he cannot move. A sense of panic is boiling in his gut and it's so uncharacteristic it hurts. The thought of Stiles letting go of him is like being hit by a truck because although he cannot trust Stiles, he needs him now more than ever. Stiles has been holding him above the water, taking the weight of both their bodies and soaked clothes, gripping tightly even though Derek cannot feel the fingers digging into his paralysed body.

"Stiles!" Derek shouts because suddenly he's sinking, and he catches sight of Stiles swimming away from him before he has to shut his eyes against the chlorine.

He's never been more aware of his own mortality than he is now.

Sinking, unable to move and he's unsure if he's hit the bottom yet because he can't feel anything. The sound of Stiles' limbs kicking through the water, the racing of his heart and the muffled ringing of his phone are all he can hear deep in the water. A feeling of betrayal seeps through his veins and into his heart, because for an instant he believes he's going to die. Drown in a school swimming pool because he wasn't worth hanging onto anymore. Derek wants to hate Stiles for it, but can't, because everything about this world is about survival of the fittest and for once Stiles is stronger than he is.

Stiles has ripped open the scabs he formed and Derek's wounds open again, blood gushing out and curling into the pool like crimson smoke. The chlorine fills the channels of his empty veins and leak through internal cracks to burn his lungs with chemicals. There's fire then, burning Derek from the inside out because he needs to breathe but can't. Chemical fire rages in his body and he's going to die in the flames just like his family did.

Derek doesn't want to die, but there is nothing he can do to stop it.

Suddenly his body is lurching forward. He can't feel or see, but he knows that someone is pulling him out the flames and up towards the surface. Oxygen rushes into Derek once the water breaks, his eyes still closed and his wounds still bleeding. But Stiles had come back for him, fists balled in his shirt and dragging him out of death's awaiting hands. Stiles is there, arms clinging to Derek's again, wrapping him up in a safe embrace and Derek can smell that familiar warm smell underneath the chlorine and the fear.

The bleeding starts to slow and although the blood still coils around them. Derek knows Stiles will not let go again.

* * *

As an Alpha, Derek feels an instinctive need to protect the weaker members of a pack. Derek protects Stiles the best he can because there's an automatic trigger whenever there is danger.

So wrapped up in power and purpose, Derek forgets that sometimes he needs protecting as well.

That is until Stiles reminds him that being human doesn't necessarily make you weak, in fact it probably makes you more powerful than any of them.

And the thought kills Derek inside.

* * *

A couple of days later, Derek finds him climbing through Stiles' window. He hasn't come to the Stilinski residence in a long time, no longer needing a place to rest, and from the ways he's been acting, Derek knows the previous welcome may not be extended any further. Stiles has no reason to like Derek, but the teen has saved him more than once now so there must be some kind of value attached to Derek's form.

He's damaged goods with a price tag still tied around the cracked neck.

Stiles isn't in his room, but he's left the window open slightly and Derek wonders if that's a lingering habit from his previous frequent comings and goings. Pushing it open and slithering inside, Derek stills to check his surroundings.

Stiles still smells the same, strong and prominent without being disrupted with other identifying scents. But there is the smell of fresh soap,citrus mixed with chemicals and the sounds of hot water running, splashing onto the shower pan with steam being sucked into an extractor fan, it's all evidence that Stiles is most likely in the shower. He has to be, as there are no other person in the house.

Derek scratches the back of his neck, shrugging off his jacket and sitting in the chair near Stiles' bed. He waits.

Stiles comes out of the shower five minutes later, and the pause between the sounds of the shower door closing and the bathroom door opening, suggest Stiles towels off whilst he's there. Derek looks up at the door when he hears the click of the door handle.

"Holy shit!" Stiles exclaims, jumping and thankfully not dropping the towel around his waist in surprise. In fact his grip around the towel tightens. Derek doesn't say anything, his eyes glued on Stile's bare form and fixated on how good he smells right now and that urge to show dominance is back with vengeance.

"Dude you have to stop this. I don't care if you're a big tough Alpha, the next time you sneak into my bedroom and frighten the crap out of me, I'm going to kick your head in and _no one_ will be able to identify the body." Derek smirks at the threat because being threatened by Stiles is always amusing, especially when his heart is pounding so erratically.

"Get dressed, we're going out."

Stiles splutters, blinks and gestures wildly with one hand.

"I'm actually speechless. I'm not going anyway with you unless someone's life is in danger, which I highly doubt."

One of Derek's smaller wounds, the one on his knuckles, splits open because the statement hurts. Before becoming the Alpha, Derek and Stiles used to...hang out sometimes, because the hard reality was that they were both lonely people. They weren't friends, but spending several days holed up in Stiles' house when labelled a fugitive meant they spent a considerable amount of time together.

Right now, Stiles was the only person Derek was itching to trust.

Standing, Derek walks towards Stiles, effectively backing him against the wall and stops once he's entered personal space.

"Get dressed." He repeated, punctuating each word because this is not a request. Stiles holds up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, back it up and meet me on the porch, there is no way I'm dressing with you just staring at me." Derek is tempted to stay right where he is because he doesn't have a problem with watching Stiles get dressed; but not wanting to spook the teen further, he back pedals and slips out of Stiles' window.

Fifteen minutes later, the front door opens and Derek shifts on the porch. Stiles is wearing one of his plaid shirts over a plain dark blue t-shirt and jeans. He has Derek's jacket under his arm and keys in his hand.

"We're going in my car." Derek says as Stiles throws his jacket at him with force.

"Really? I thought we should use my perfectly working jeep which totally isn't locked in a police compound right now. How unusually generous of you Derek." And at the sounds of the biting sarcasm, Derek starts rethinking every choice he's made this night.

"Just get in." Derek growls, pushing Stiles towards the car with one hand before getting into the driver's seat. They drive in silence for a total of five minutes which has to be a record for Stiles.

"So..." Stiles trails, searching for something to say as he glances around the car "Where are we going?"

"You've fed me more times than I can count; I'm making it up to you." Derek replies, turning onto the road which leads out of Beacon Hills.

"No thank you, I don't want food poisoning."

"I'm not cooking for you; we would have stayed at your house if I was going to cook for you. I'm taking you out for dinner." Stiles is looking at him oddly, but Derek ignores it.

"Okay, because that's not totally out of the ordinary at all."

The place Derek has in mind is just outside of Beacon Hills on the side of the main road. It has a single gas pump outside in the car park and the place is mainly used as a bar rather than a food joint, but it has a nice grill selection. Derek knows this because he pulls pints there behind the bar three times a week. Having a job is a risky option considering the hunters, but its low lying work and no one really thinks to look outside of Beacon Hills because, technically, Derek is trespassing on a different packs territory. Besides, he needs the money.

"How the hell did you find this place?" Stiles says when Derek pulls up and gets out of the car. Looking over his shoulder, Derek smirks and walks into the bar with Stiles close behind. Inside it's almost empty with only a few people sitting at the bar and there is classic rock music playing quietly through radio speakers. The room is dimly lit and filled with old furniture with vinyl records in see through cases nailed to the wall.

"Hey Derek." The man behind the bar says and Derek nods at him. The bar tender looks around the older man to see Stiles shifting awkward at his side.

"There's a place out back if you want it, and I don't have a problem cooking for you." Derek thanks the bar tender before grabbing Stiles by the wrist and pulling him towards the back of the room, before shoving him into a chair and sitting opposite.

"This is really weird, how do they know you? Last thing I heard you didn't have a social life." Stiles hissed, leaning over the table as Derek takes off his jacket and folds it over the back of the chair.

"I work here sometimes." Derek says, ignoring Stiles' look of total disbelieve.

"I guess even power hungry werewolves need to pay the bills." Stiles says, raising his eyebrows and snatching up the menu. Derek just rolls his eyes.

Derek leaves Stiles to order and food doesn't take long to arrive because the place is empty. For a moment, they talk and for once it isn't about Derek being a jerk or about how much shit they are in and it's just like before. Before when Stiles roped Derek into playing video games because that's what he used to do with Scott. When Stiles left leftovers in paper bags in the fridge for Derek to eat whilst he was at school and his father was out. Back when Derek could have pinned Stiles against a wall and kissed him without a fear of rejection because they had a twisted sense of championship.

He wished he had seized the opportunity before it went spiralling down the drain.

"That was surprisingly good, I thought you were going to kidnap me and subject me to some kind of torture to help your pack training or whatever." Stiles says with blunt honest when they're walking through the car park again after eating.

A fresh invisible bruise blossoms on Derek's arm.

"I'm not the bad guy in this." Derek says, because he's starting to feel like everyone his viewing him as the villain when in reality he's just another antihero.

"I wouldn't say you're the villain, you're just a minor baddy who causes shit to happen but isn't the ultimate problem." Stiles replies and Derek has to remember that he's talking to someone who has a decent sized stack of comic books in his bedroom.

Another bruise breaks the surface.

"Then what are you doing? I'm pretty sure the good guy isn't meant to let the bad guy sleep in his bedroom and take him out for dinner." Derek counters. Stiles goes to open the passenger door of the car but Derek slams it shut before he can get it open fully, fingers splayed on the window.

Stiles turns to face the werewolf. Derek has a seriously expression on his face as he reaches the other hand over to presses it against the door, effectively caging Stiles between his arms, with his back against the car door. The teen looks up at him, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip and the temperature of his skin is rising.

"Because that's what people do, they help others out even when they're too much of a dick to appreciate it." Derek huffs out something similar to a laugh and presses himself against Stiles.

"You don't think I appreciate it?" Derek says, leaning in close so he's barely an inch away from Stiles' mouth. "Let me show you how much I appreciate it."

The kiss is a firm, closed mouth press of Derek's lips on Stiles'. The fast thud of Stiles' heart is deafening in his ears and he doesn't miss the noise Stiles makes in the back of his throat. The Alpha inside is overjoyed because Stiles is yielding to him, and making pleased noises when Derek slides his tongue against that abused bottom lip.

The bruises that had blossomed heal fast when Derek feels hands press into his shoulders. Drawing back, Derek rests his forehead on Stile's and breathes. It feels like Derek hasn't been breathing, it feels like he had still been lying on the bottom of that pool, alone and forgotten and dying and yet again Stiles has pulled him to the surface.

Surprisingly Stiles doesn't say anything, just wraps one hand around the back of Derek's neck and pulls him down once more.

This time, Derek doesn't hold back his hunger and the wolf inside takes over, all too eager to claim. Pushing his tongue into Stiles' mouth and tasting, Derek's senses go haywire and that tunnel vision is back, because everything in Derek's nerves are hyper aware of anything that is Stiles and everything else is efficiently blocked out. Stile's fingers dig harshly into Derek's neck, and the teen moans when Derek's hands mould onto his hips and press him against the car again.

Derek is feeling too hot in his clothes yet wants to press every inch of his body against Stiles, smother him in his scent and display ownership. Pulling back from Stiles and dodging the lips that chase after his, Derek ducks his head and latches onto the smooth, pale patch of neck that is accessible over his shirt collar.

"Derek." Stiles breathes and whatever he was planning on says is forgotten when Derek starts to suck none too lightly, teeth worrying the skin into bruising. The helpless noise Stiles makes drives Derek insane with want as he licks over the marks, and presses his nose against the throat bared before him.

The flow of blood is roaring in Derek's ears, but he focuses on the hands sliding off his shoulders and along his torso, slipping under the edges of his leather jacket. Derek tightening his grip on Stiles' hips and pushes his thigh between Stiles' legs.

"I guess you really appreciated it then." Stiles says breathlessly when Derek drags himself backwards. Smirking, Derek reaches around Stiles and opens the car door.

"Get in."

* * *

In all knowledge that Stiles is disappointed, Derek drives the teen home and doesn't take their making out session to the bedroom. Even though he doesn't let Stiles get out of the car for ten minutes because his mouth is too urgent to kiss Stiles again. Instead, he leaves the teen with a nice red mark under his jaw, and a couple more on his collar bone hidden under his shirt. He actually lets Stiles brand him with a mark of his own over Derek's throat.

"You're sixteen and your dad's the sheriff." Derek says firmly when Stiles whines about Derek not pushing it any further. Stiles grumbles about how age doesn't stop everyone else from having sex, but eventually gets out the car.

* * *

Erica glares at him when she turns up for training the next day. Isaac, who had been sleeping when Derek returned the previous night, is still staring wordlessly at Derek's neck and had been since they sat down to have breakfast that morning, and Boyd just looks confused.

"What the hell happened to your neck?"

Erica says finally voicing what everyone was dying to ask, sniffing because the unfamiliar scent of Stiles still lingers of Derek's skin.

"It doesn't matter, what matters is reducing the number of bones I break in your body today."

* * *

The previous boundary of 'you're sixteen and your dad's the sheriff' is blown sky high when Derek climbs through Stiles' window a week later to find warm lips welcoming him.

* * *

Stiles' loses all ability to speak when Derek is kissing him, or biting him, or licking him, or decorating his body with red marks and that fact alone is an accomplishment.

"What happened to your stupid rule?" Stiles asks between gasps as Derek sucks his shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Don't remind me about the rule." Derek growls because he knows this is a bad idea, but he can barely control himself when Stiles is around.

"I'm not complaining, in fact I see this as a victory. Stiles 1, Derek and his amazing control 0."

"If you don't shut up, I'll come to my senses and leave."

"Shutting up right now."

And Derek makes sure it stays that way by turning any words Stiles has to say into moans.

* * *

Derek has Stiles pinned to the bed, wrists over his head as he's pressed deeper into the mattress. Derek is straddling Stile's hips, grinding their groins together slowly as he bites the soft tissue where Stiles' neck meets his shoulder.

"The fact you haven't taken your shirt off yet it's impossibly unfair." Stiles moans, arching up as he tries to wrench his wrists from Derek's iron grip. Derek laps his tongue over the red marks he's made and sits up, letting go of Stiles' wrists and curling his fingers around the bottom of his shirt. Peeling the snug shirt upwards, slowly, teasingly, revealing his skin inch by inch until the fabric goes up over his head and is dropped onto the floor.

"You are a horrible person." Stiles moans a little helplessly, sitting up and running his finger tips over Derek's chest, down over his torso and onto his carved hips. Fingers are followed by lips pressing a little shyly onto his skin and Derek moans, dropping his head back and sliding his hands up Stile's flanks in encouragement.

The see through cuts and scars have never been so clear before, and as Stiles glides his touch over each and every one, Derek can feel the fresh skin finally closing over the scabs, and the bricks that made his strong defensive walls start to crumple. He would never tell Stiles about it, but the feeling of armour dropping from his body is a welcome release of a burden he can forgot he carries for just a moment.

The wolf inside takes over again. Placing his hands on Stiles' shoulders, Derek knocks the teen back onto the bed and pins him there, holding him in place as he goes to nudge Stiles' shirt up with his nose. It's Derek's turn to see the nasty, invisible bruises on Stile's body. To analyse the dents and splits in his pales skin and kiss each tiny scar and scab. Stiles is damaged goods just like Derek and although they break each other, rip open old wounds and create new one, their only way to fully heal is through each other.

He leaves a trail of bite marks from navel to collar bone before Stiles fists his fingers in Derek's hair to pull him into a kiss. There's a battle of tongues and Stiles bites Derek's bottom lip because he's not as submissive as the wolf inside would like, but Derek dominates in the end.

In any other circumstance; sex would not necessarily be seen as an act of dominance over submission, but Stiles is running with the wolves in a world where _everything_ is dominance over submission.

Stiles squeaks when Derek moves his hand between them to press against Stiles' clothed erection. Moving from lips to neck, Derek growls in approval, the scent of arousal making his head spin as he squeezes gently before sitting up again.

"What are you... oh my god." Stiles blabbers as Derek leisurely unbuckles Stiles' belt, and pops the fly button and unzips as if he has all the time in the world. Which he does and the groans of frustration are too good to be true.

Pushing Stiles' jeans down to his knees, Derek settle's himself between the teen's legs, pushing them further apart with firm hands pressed on his thighs. Stiles' incoherent babbling stops when Derek mouths him through the fabric of his boxers, sliding his tongue over the bulge before hooking the waistband between his teeth and dragging them downwards. Stiles' moans are helpless and Derek never wants them to stop.

"You like that?" Derek asks, looking up at Stiles with a quirk to the corner of his lips.

"You're impossible." Stiles says breathlessly, attempting to buck his hips but Derek holds him down.

"You'll like this more." Derek mutters before taking Stiles' cock in his mouth. Sucking the tip and rubbing his tongue against the hot flesh before taking more into his mouth, be careful not to let his teeth scrap too roughly over sensitive veins. Stiles is making so many noises it's hard to decode them, and squirm of Stiles' hips as they try to thrust into Derek's mouth has the wolf inside going wild.

Hollowing his cheeks once Stiles' cock is in his mouth to the hilt, Derek tightening his fingers around the jutting hips so hard the skin will bruise and starts bobbing his head. All too aware that his eyes are burning red and his claws are starting to length, Derek tries to rein in enough control so his fangs don't grow but it's proving difficult, because Stiles' is cursing Derek's name and it sends hot flushes up the older man's spine.

Loosening his hold, Derek allows Stiles to thrust into the wet heat of his mouth, relaxing his throat enough so he doesn't gag. Once, twice, three times Derek allows it before he pushes Stiles' hips back into the mattress and keep him there despite the whines of protest. Stiles' won't last much longer, he's only a teenager and Derek doubts that anyone has ever given him a blow job in his life so his stamina won't be quite up to par just yet.

Fingers latch onto Derek's hair and pull, stinging his scalp in warning. Sliding back up to just the tip of Stiles' cock, Derek sucks and pushes his tongue between the slit and rubs, arching his back and adjusting his hold to get the best angle.

"Derek!" Stiles barks as he comes, twisting in the sheets, heels digging into Derek's back as the salty fluid fills Derek's mouth. Derek sits up, watching Stiles as he swallows the fluid in his mouth and Stiles' dazed eyes are glued to the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he does so.

Derek knows that there is a trail of white cum dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Swiping a finger over it, Derek flicks his tongue over the digit, never looking way from Stiles' rouged face.

"That was amazing." Stiles mutters, eyes falling shut as he bathes in the afterglow. Derek lies back down on top of him, kissing Stiles' deeply as he locks his wrist back over Stiles' head. Derek's jeans provide a perfect amount of friction as he starts to rut against Stiles' hip.

Snapping his hips over and over again, Derek grunts and goes for the neck once more. He doesn't bite, or kiss, or lick, just ghosts his lips over the hot skin because he's too far gone to concentrate. All Derek can think of is the overwhelming smell of Stiles' cum and sweat mixed in with his normal scent, the hitch of Stiles' breath because he's finding it hard to breath and the rush of Stiles' blood in his jugular.

"Stiles." Derek groans brokenly, eyes glowing red as he ruts. Control is slipping through his finger tips and claws extend, puncturing the mattress because Derek can't cling to Stiles anymore without hurting him. Stiles is touching him, hands palming burning flesh and reaching blindly to curve over Derek's ass, feeling each snap and roll of his hips.

But Derek is focused on the sound of blood in his ears and the sight of Stiles' neck bared before him.

"Stiles please." Derek gasps, mouthing at the jugular once again and he can almost taste the blood on his lips. Fangs have extended without consent and the brush of skin over the tips of them sends Derek haywire.

"I want to bite. Please Stiles, let me bite you, let me claim you _please_." His moan is desperate, and it's hard to hold back as his mouth widens, ready to sink into the skin and fully claim Stiles as his own. Now Stiles is squirming, hands fleeing from Derek's ass to push his shoulder instead.

"No, Derek you can't, I don't want you to." Stiles says. Derek breathes and listens to the nervous heartbeat before closing his mouth and dropping his head to bury into Stiles' shoulder, whimpering with rejection as he grinds his hips down hard.

A part of him feels utterly ashamed.

Derek comes messily in his jeans, body seizing up as blinding pleasure burst behind closed eyelids. He slumps boneless, crushing Stiles under him. They lie there silently as their breathing calms, perfectly in sync with each other.

"I lost control." Derek mumbles when Stiles wiggles out from under him to clean himself up. His eyes are closed but he knows that the teen is looking at him.

"Not completely, I mean you reined it in at the end. Besides I'm used to werewolves trying to kill, or maim, or bite me on a regular basis." Stiles says. Derek growls in discontent, kicking off his jeans and reaching blindly from under the covers to grab Stiles by the arm and pull him back into bed.

Stiles' bed is small and Derek has to wrap himself tightly around Stiles in order to fit. Derek doesn't mind, he buries s his head between Stiles' shoulder blades and Stiles holds his arm in place around his waist.

This time, Stiles does as he is told and doesn't let go.


End file.
